glycerine
by milk ghost
Summary: The year is 2049, Townsville is drowning in crime, and Butch is apparently harboring an escaped government psychic experiment subject. — butch/buttercup


**notes:** here's a heavy serving of greens for your entertainment and health.

 **notes2:** very, very loose akira!au. because i love kaneda with all my heart. just be forewarned that i know jack about motorbikes except that they go fast and have two wheels. remember this fact. remember.

 **disclaimer:** idek, man. but no.

—

[ _better think twice, your train of thought will be altered_ ]

—

one—

The year is 2049, and the United States is no longer the promised land of crafted American dreams. World War III ended over 30 years ago, but some remnants of the almost apocalypse still remain. Cities have been reduced to rubble and ash, with the tomorrow promises of _we will rebuild_ , but lives cannot be built upon empty words and absent funding. Thirty years and the majority of people have been forgotten, abandoned, and left to rot in the remnants of a once-great nation.

Discontent breeds protests and riots in the streets, but the police seemingly would rather gun people down than attempt to find a better solution. As such, distrust and crime thrives almost everywhere imaginable. Corruption is rooted so deeply that it pierced the core of society.

The dark alleyways of Townsville are a breeding ground for criminals and sins alike. They run red with blood, and echoes of violence can be heard throughout the night if only you listen close enough. Criminal activity has absolutely skyrocketed, and the police can't stop the movement. Anything and everything runs through these streets—drugs, guns, girls, hit men, muggings, kidnappings—you name it, Townsville's got it.

Butch sighs around the sucker in his mouth, scanning the list of songs on the neo-juke in front of him. He runs through disk after disk, never selecting a song. Usually he's not a picky guy, but good music is hard to come by these days.

Behind him, whispers of both women and men can be heard. Rolling his eyes, he wonders when they'll ever shut up and mind their own damn business. It's not like this is exactly the most respectable joint around, and his gang had staked its claim on it long before.

It's probably his jacket that gives him away. There's always plenty of underage miscreants like himself through this place. But he's the only one here right now wearing a black leather jacket with the word ' _BERSERKERS_ ' across the back in bold red lettering. Okay so maybe he was practically giving himself away, but that's beside the point. The point _is_ that people should mind their own damn business and stay out of his business.

The small bell above the entryway jingles, and he hears familiar snickering at the front counter. "Why don't you just buy something?" the bartender sighs, wearily scratching his bald head. "You're in and out of here all the time without giving me any actual business. I should call the cops on you for loitering."

Mitch grins, hands shoved into his pockets as he makes his way past the counter. "Hah, in your dreams, gramps. You'd never call the cops down here, anyways."

The neon light outside the dingy little bar flickers, and the bartender sighs again.

Butch finally selects a song and inserts a quarter into the machine, watching as it flips the luminescent disk into place. Mitch leans up against the side of the neo-juke and tilts his head back. "We got word on the Gangreen Gang. Ace is out for your head, man. He wants blood, and they say he's coming for the Berserkers tonight."

The disk begins to spin. "What else're they sayin'?"

Mitch smirks. "That they plan to ambush us in the Old City."

Butch bites down hard on the candy in his mouth and tosses the stick away. He turns on his heel and heads for the door. "Let's go, Mitchelson, we got snake ass to butcher."

Mitch laughs, following his leader out the door. He tosses a ten onto the counter and scuffs up the steps to the outside world. Butch turns down a back alley that leads to an abandoned parking lot, where the rest of the Berserkers are waiting. Floyd and Lloyd greet him with their freaky twin telepathy treatment of flipping him the bird, and Harry rolls his eyes.

Butch pulls the cover off of his bike—his baby, by far the best bike on the streets, dark green and custom fitted to him and him alone—and throws a leg over the side. The engine revs to life and he pulls the front down and locks it in place. The boys all follow suit, and he turns back to look at them. He pulls his goggles down over his eyes, and the last thing they see before he takes off in a flash of green is his manic grin.

They weave through the streets, not headed for the Old City, but rather for the Green Gang's territory itself. Ace and his merry band of idiots wouldn't be expecting them to make house calls, and likely they wouldn't be prepared. Ace's strategy had always been to corner rival gangs into an area that he and his boys knew best, and then pick them off. Butch wasn't like that—he went hard or he didn't go at all. They were going to strike where the Gangreen Gang felt safest. They were going to defeat them on their own territory.

The streets are alive with violent protests and late-night rush hour traffic, but they know these roads more than anything else. Nothing will stop them from getting what they want.

Butch narrows his eyes at the clogged street before him and searches for an exit. He's pushing 109 mph right now, and no one shows any sign of moving. He presses his foot down on the accelerator and hangs a right. Behind him, Harry thinks he is beginning to get ulcers from all the crap that his leader puts him through. Butch pulls back hard on the handlebars, aligning his front wheel with the inclined bed of a tow truck. He uses it as a ramp to jump the remaining traffic, baking a hard left to turn on an empty street. His tires squeal, bike screaming, as his right foot scrapes the pavement. Grinning like a maniac he is off again, leaving the rest of the Berserkers to follow his lead.

He enters the Southside of Townsville with the roar of his engine, daring Ace and his boys to come out and play. They do, of course, not about to resist a challenge on their own territory. The rest of the Berserkers pull up behind him, armed with crowbars and lead pipes. This isn't just a fight anymore, they're declaring all out war.

Butch goes after Ace, and leaves the rest of his crew to take care of the Gang. Ace leads him through the ramshackle and run-down streets of the Southside, and idly Butch wonders why he's running. Or more accurately, why he's headed for the Old City. There's nothing there but war-torn remnants of an idolized past.

Tired of chasing, Butch easily catches up with Ace and takes a swing at him. In response, the rival leader suddenly turns onto the abandoned highway leading to the Old City, and floors it. Butch grits his teeth and follows, bracing himself as the highway drops into the long, barely lit tunnel to hell. When he resurfaces, he barely notices Ace turning onto some old avenue by a bombed bank. He tries not to look too much at the gray and dreary broken buildings and pursues. But, when he turns the corner, Ace is nowhere to be seen.

He slams on his brakes and hits the handle bars. "Damn it!"

The Old City was a maze of garbage, hazardous roads, and falling rubble. It was also known to be a hideout for criminals and the prime operating spot of some major local drug runners. Legally, it was supposed to be quarantined. For what, Butch didn't know, and he didn't really want to know. What he did know was that something unspeakable had happened there, yet no one knew anything about it because nearly everyone involved had died. Thus, the government quarantine. Now, normally Butch didn't care about what the government or police had to say, but he had been more than happy to stay away from the Old City.

He hated this godforsaken place, but Ace probably knew it like the back of his oily hand. Ace had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. Butch should've taken him out when he had the chance.

He eyes a half-burnt doll with singed curly white hair and shivers. Something about the Old City just gave him shitty and creepy vibes. It felt like there was something _more_ here, lurking beneath the surface. He can sense it. Butch twists his handlebars and slams his foot on the accelerator, wondering if the rest of the Berserkers knew where he'd headed off to. He winds through the crumbling streets of the Old City, the familiar eerie feeling clinging to his clothes and crawling up his throat. Ace has to be here somewhere, the bastard. He only thought he could best The Butch. He'd learn his lesson when Butch finally found him and beat the ever living shit out of him.

Butch pulls a hard corner to avoid an enormous gaping hole in the road, and looks up in time just to miss the girl standing in the middle of the street. He catches a glimpse of vibrant green eyes before his tires skid and he comes to a roughly abrupt halt. Wheezing, he steadies the bike by planting his boots on the ground. His head snaps up, violent temper flaring, when he suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. A few feet away there is a girl wearing what appears to be a set of torn hospital pajamas. Her hair barely dusts her shoulders, and she's staring at him with those haunting green eyes. She's barefoot, covered in cuts and bruises, and she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

Time slows for a second—he swears it does.

She doesn't belong here.

He wonders, briefly, if she's a ghost. It was rumored that the dead roamed the streets of the Old City, but most of those stories were from junkies and people who wanted others to stay out of this place. But she just looks so unearthly, so out of place here amidst the grime and decay.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he shouts, because they both could have just died. "You don't just stand in the middle of the road, you crazy harpy!"

Something flashes in her eyes, then. It's an emotion he would qualify as anger. She opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of an engine cuts her off. Ah, so Ace has finally made his reappearance. Butch would clap, if he cared.

He shoots a warning look to the girl. "You'd better get out of the way." Then, he revs his engine, tires squealing as his bike turns to face the leader of the Gangreen Gang. He's going to redirect the fight away from her.

He leans in, flooring it, as Ace comes straight at him. He's sure that Butch will chicken out at the last minute, thus causing him to crash. The thing is, he doesn't. Right before they collide, Ace panics and jerks his bike to the side, flipping it and sending him rolling and sliding across the pavement. He ends up at the feet of the girl.

Butch skids to a halt, stopping sideways in the middle of the road. His triumphant grin fades when he sees Ace struggling to his feet, and the girl right in front of him. He dismounts his bike, lead pipe in hand, and narrows his eyes at the writhing figure on the pavement.

Ace just so happened to be one of the slimiest bastards that Butch had ever met. This fact doesn't change, as Ace demonstrates just how much of a greasy coward he is by grabbing the girl and holding a knife to her throat.

"If you come any clossser," he rasps, "ssshe'll eat it."

Now, Butch may have been a complete asshole and a total dick, but he wasn't evil. Ace had dragged this innocent girl into their fight. She didn't belong here—not in the Old City or in between them. He tightens his grasp on the pipe and narrows his eyes. Before, he he'd only been messing around. Now he was serious.

"Let her go, asshole," he growls. "She ain't got anything to do with this."

Ace wraps his arm around her neck and pulls her close, pressing the knife into her skin. "I told you, Berssserker," he spits. "Not another ssstep."

Suddenly, Butch grins, a wild glint in his eye. "Aw c'mon man," he shrugs, haphazardly swinging the pipe up in the air, "you know I wasn't gonna kill ya. All I planned on doin' was teaching you that the streets don't belong to you Gangreen scum."

The rival leader steps back, dragging the girl with him. Her fingers are digging into his arm. Something about the insane look on Butch's face makes him uneasy. That was the thing about the Berserkers—they were a gang of wildcards, especially their leader. They were a bunch of crazy ass high school delinquents, and they were a violent bunch. Ace is well aware that Butch would rather break both of his legs and maybe a finger or two and leave him with a kick to the ribs instead of simply killing him. The Berserkers weren't murderers, but they definitely weren't saints, either.

And Butch was the worst.

But Butch also knew that Ace was a lowlife that would rather hurt innocent people in order to save his own skin.

Butch's gaze darkens, and his grin drops. "I told you to let her go, Ace. Do it. Before I decide to break all of your ribs and leave you here as a symbol not to mess with the Berserkers."

Something within him writhes, and he tries to forget the _wrongness_ of this place. It's getting worse. It makes him want to claw at his chest and scream.

Ace pulls the girl back again, now completely unnerved by the appearance of the Berserker leader. Suddenly, the girl stops trying to tear his arm apart with her nails. Her arms go limp at her sides.

"They're coming."

Both Ace and Butch look at her upon her quiet words. Suddenly, Ace's arm snaps at an odd angle, and he falls to the broken street in agony. Butch's eyes go wide as the girl tenderly touches her fingers to the place where the knife had been. She sighs, closing her eyes, then turns to the speechless Butch.

"You'd better get out of the way," she reiterates his words, bright green eyes looking as if they're on fire.

Butch is still trying to comprehend how she just did a sick 180 degree twist with Ace's nasty arm without even touching it, and doesn't really register her words. "What?"

She takes a few steps as if to rush past him, when she suddenly stumbles and collapses. He reaches out to steady her, baffled the hell out of his mind. Her breathing is ragged, and when she looks up at him, there's a steady stream of blood dripping from her nose. In his peripheral, he notices '02' tattooed onto the inside of her left wrist, but ignores it.

"They're coming," she tells him again, angrier. "Let me go and leave."

Butch scoffs, pulling her up. She wobbles before he catches her again. "The fuck I will, you deranged mental patient. I bet you escaped from some special home, didn't you? I'd better take you back before you go all looney on me. 'Sides, you can't even stand on your own."

"Let go of me, asshole," she says rather spitefully, attempting to pull away.

He shakes his head. "I think the hell not. Who are you? What did you do to that slimy crapsack over there?"

She huffs, gaze flirting everywhere. "Broke it. He'll be fine. Probably. He won't die. Now get the hell out of here. You shouldn't be here."

"Listen sweetheart," he rolls his eyes, "as much as I agree with you, I am here. Now, what the hell are you—"

The feeling of dread grows, and suddenly he feels so nauseous that he's not sure he can stand. His vision swims before his eyes, and he sees blurs of images—memories—men dressed in white, in black, needles, screaming, blood everywhere, crushed cans and water floating as if there's no gravity, and—

Butch grips his head and groans, feeling the splitting headache of someone sharing information directly into his brain. Once the pain is mostly subsided, he looks back down at the girl. Her eyes are determined and harsh.

"When we're out of this hellscape," he ushers her over to his bike, "you're going to explain just exactly who the fuck you are, how you broke Ace's arm, and what you just did to me, or else I'm dropping you off at the first police station I see."

She grasps his jacket and shakes her head, her nosebleed worsening. She looks almost scared. "Don't. Don't."

He scowls, revving the engine. Then, he takes off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders. "Wear this so your fucking pajamas don't get blown away, or whatever. And hang on."

She complies, and then they're out of the Old City as fast as Butch's bike can take them.

[ _so if you must falter be wise_ ]

tbc.

 **end notes:** this was a monster. yIKES.


End file.
